


Closing the Distance

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cock Warming, Complicated Relationships, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Episode 144, Under-Desk Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 17:17:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19772836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: Martin can't answer any questions. Jon offers a solution.





	Closing the Distance

“I’m not answering your questions.” 

Jon’s face fell, and Martin suppressed the instinctive urge to apologize. Because if he apologized, it would only encourage Jon to push, to ask questions Martin couldn’t answer, and couldn’t help but answer. 

“We both have work to do,” Martin continued, hoping he sounded reasonable. Serious. Mature. Not terrified, and desperate to be anywhere but here. “So it’s best if you just leave.”

For a moment, he thought it might’ve worked. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jon wavering, hand lightly gripping the door frame. He lingered on the threshold, while Martin held his breath and pretended to go back to work. 

The door clicked shut, and Martin’s head snapped up. Jon hadn’t left, had closed the door, was walking towards Martin, halting to place an all too proprietary hand on Martin’s desk.

“I’m not going to ask you questions. But Daisy said you seemed upset, and I just wanted to see—”

“Shut up,” Martin said, but Jon only leaned closer. “I told you, I’m busy.” He stared determinedly at his screen, hating how it blurred.

“What did he do to you?” Jon demanded.

“He hasn’t _done_ anything!” Martin slammed his hand down, but Jon didn’t move a muscle, caught in the answer he’d torn from Martin. All Martin wanted was to disappear, before Jon took more than he could give. He took a steadying breath, and said, “I thought you weren’t going to ask any questions?”

He threw it back at Jon like a slap, and a stupid, weak part of him rejoiced when Jon recoiled. A small sign that Jon was still human enough to care. But the triumph died quickly as Martin failed to follow through, to put the necessary distance between them. He could use this to make Jon leave. Consumed by self-loathing as he was, it’d likely work. And yet Martin hesitated, cursing himself when it gave Jon another chance to speak. And worse than speak, move, coming around the desk to stand beside Martin, staring down at him. And Martin hated what he saw in those eyes. 

“I miss you,” Jon said. “And I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know—” His voice cracked, and he dropped to his knees, a shift so sudden it left Martin speechless. Head bowed, voice low, Jon continued, “I don’t know if I want to anymore.”

Martin swiveled his chair to face Jon, struggling for something, anything to say. The words he needed to make Jon go away, because Martin couldn’t deal with this, not when Jon lifted his head and looked at Martin in a way that made his heart ache. Once he might’ve reached out, but now he simply sat there, even as Jon clearly wanted some response. Perhaps that would be enough. Letting the confession go unanswered, his silence answer enough.

In that silence, Martin heard the whir of the tape recorder. It had nothing to record, though, as Jon lifted his hand, letting it hover in the air, fingers curling and uncurling, poisoned with indecision. Until he began to lower it, second by hesitant second, falling at last on Martin’s knee. And only then did Jon speak.

“Just let me stay. I just want—” His fingers tightened, drawing the fabric tight, making Martin tense. “I want to—” He met Martin’s eyes, then dragged his gaze away as if it pained him. “—to be close to you.”

Close. It wasn’t the word Jon had been reaching for, just the one he’d chosen in the end. If they stayed like this, whatever Jon intended, whatever he thought he wanted, he’d crack. He’d look, and he’d ask. And Martin couldn’t take it. Not now. Maybe not ever. 

“How do I know you won’t speak?” Because all Jon’s statements turned to questions in the end. 

Jon’s brow furrowed, and Martin’s skin prickled as the tape recorder whined. But the question he expected didn’t come. Instead Jon shuffled closer, pushing past Martin to tuck himself under the desk, before tugging on Martin’s chair until he finally relented, caging Jon between his legs. 

“What are you doing?” Martin hissed, eyes darting to the door.

Had Jon sensed something? But he didn’t answer, and though his hand was trembling, he didn’t seem to be trying to hide. Instead he shifted closer still, hand brushing along Martin’s thigh until he reached the top, and didn’t stop, didn’t apologize, didn’t pull away. Just pushed against Martin’s groin as he fumbled for the zipper.

“What—” Martin voice slipped higher as Jon found his goal, unzipping Martin’s trousers, fingers burrowing inside. “Jon, what, I mean—” He struggled for air, for words, for sense. “Why?”

It was absurd, something Martin had dreamed about, and yes, maybe daydreamed as well, once or twice. But never with any expectation of the fantasy being realized. Of Jon finding his cock, gently freeing it and leaning tentatively forward, his lips brushing the tip. Lips that twisted into a wry, nervous smile.

“I promise you,” Jon said. “I won’t speak.”

Before Martin could protest further, his cock was in Jon’s mouth. It swelled quickly at the sudden warmth, the sensation of Jon drawing him deeper, the sight of his lips stretched wet and red around it. Jon continued to slide closer, taking more than Martin would’ve thought possible, until finally he tensed, reeling back and coughing.

That should’ve been the end of it, but Jon was nothing if not stubborn once he’d set his mind on a course of action. Without saying a word, he took Martin into his mouth again, shallower this time, his tongue pressing up against the underside of Martin’s cock. He hummed in satisfaction, eliciting a moan from Martin, as his hand went to Jon’s hair. Jon pushed eagerly into the touch, leaning his body against one of Martin’s legs. But he made no other attempt to move his head, only his tongue and lips twitching around Martin’s cock, as Jon struggled to get used to the feeling. And even that faded away as the minutes passed, Martin stroking Jon’s hair, Jon sagging heavily against his thigh, eyes gradually slipping shut.

Close, and silent, and warm in a way that hurt, even as Martin’s cock went soft in Jon’s mouth. As the strange new status quo settled over him, he realized he did still have work to do. That Peter wanted him to draw up a performance improvement plan for the belligerent librarians. That if he didn’t, Peter would deal them, just like he’d dealt with the researchers months before. And instead of doing his job, he was living out his sexual fantasies with his boss, his former boss, who couldn’t possibly really want to be here. Who was slowly turning into a monster, or maybe already was one. And maybe Martin would be able to admit that, to see it for himself, if he wasn’t thinking with his cock. A cock still engulfed in the warmth of an almost monster’s mouth.

He jumped as Jon leaned closer, taking Martin another inch deeper, and looking up at him. Running awkward fingers along Martin’s thigh, clearly sensing his distress. Jon’s lips twitched, and vibrations startled a gasp from Martin as his cock began to harden again. Jon had tried to speak. But like this he couldn’t, held in check by Martin, just as he’d promised. And he still wasn’t pulling away.

“I can do this,” Martin said, and felt an answering squeeze on his leg.

He shuffled his legs as close together as he could, letting Jon lean on him more easily as he tried to focus on his work. And it was easier than he expected, the only interruptions Jon shifting to get more comfortable, otherwise seeming to half-doze in this odd embrace. Even the twitch of his tongue, the way his lips sometimes slid up and down when he moved, was only the slightest distraction, the low-level buzz of arousal more pleasant background noise than a true disturbance. And in this state he typed, carefully selecting the words so hopefully the librarians would understand the danger, if not the extent of it, and would do what he asked. 

When he saved the final versions, he felt Jon stir again, and this time he didn’t return to his previous quiescent position. Instead he hummed, a clear inquiry, but one Martin was under no obligation to answer. 

“I’m almost finished,” he said. 

He attached each document to a separate email, BCCing Peter, as was his preference. Then he sent them, and slumped back in his chair, in time to see Jon drawing back deliberately, until only the tip remained between his lips, eyes locked on Martin. Staring, as he took Martin deeper again, agonizingly slow, never looking away, never blinking. It had to be unnatural, but Martin didn’t care, not with the way Jon was watching him, as if he were cataloging ever twitch of a muscle, every small moan, and keeping it all for future reference. Maybe he was, the tape recorder still going, though all it had to record were the sounds Jon drew from Martin, the gasps as Jon began to find a rhythm, this time not lapsing back into stillness. 

“Jon,” Martin said, reaching out to cup his cheek, feeling his cock pressed against it as Jon stopped, waiting for Martin to finish. “If you keep this up, you know, I’ll, well.” His cheeks heated, as stupid as it was. That he could have his cock in Jon’s mouth for who knew how long, but couldn’t spit it out. “I’ll come, and you don’t have to do this.”

Jon rolled his eyes, and hummed again, startling another gasp from Martin. Then he returned to his previous pace, seemingly undaunted by Martin’s warning, even as Martin’s hand tightened on his cheek, and he came with a quiet moan. 

As come spurted into Jon’s mouth, he did flail back, clearly not expecting the reality of it. Bits of it dotted his skin, and as he back on his heels, he drew a finger through it, staring at it skeptically before sucking it off his finger and making a face. Martin struggled to sit up, reaching for the drawer to get a napkin for Jon. But despite his clear dislike of the taste, Jon dragged his fingers through the come again, sucking on them while staring at Martin. An action he repeated while Martin watched, enraptured, until his face was entirely clean. 

He managed to keep his silence as Martin scooted back, and Jon got to his feet, the only sound a groan of pain from maintaining the awkward posture for so long. It was only at the door that Jon hesitated, an echo of his entrance, though he looked different now. Lips still red, hair disheveled, and an odd peace in his eyes, one he’d lacked before.

But even now, Martin knew it wouldn’t last. 

“You really need to go,” he said, hand tightening on his knee, remembering the feeling of Jon there. 

“I— Right.” Jon’s fingers gripped the doorknob, and he twisted to look back at Martin. “May I come back?”

Not a question that demanded any sort of answer, any truth Martin was unwilling to share. But Martin answered anyway, and knew he’d regret it. 

“Yes.”


End file.
